


Sticks and Stones

by AndyAO3



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Conspiracy Theories? In MY Overwatch? It's More Likely Than You Think, Eventual Romance, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Implied Relationships, Lena Oxton is a Useless Gay Nerd, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Build, Sombra is a Troll, watch as they circle each other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-18
Updated: 2016-12-09
Packaged: 2018-08-31 15:15:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8583253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndyAO3/pseuds/AndyAO3
Summary: A standard girl-meets-girl story goes awry when it comes to light that the pretty girl in purple that Lena hit it off with is working for the bad guys. Needless to say, shenanigans ensue.[DISCONTINUED]





	1. where no one goes

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to start this and see what the reception ends up being like, because I want to write this pairing, like REALLY WANT TO, but at the same time it's not exactly a popular ship and I feel like one of the few people sailing it. I've done a lot of art for it, but aside from that I don't see much of it. There's like one fic you guys.
> 
> The theme of the day for the music I'm going to use for titles is "sounds like flying feels", because that's the kind of music I use as inspiration for Tracer. If all goes well, this'll be a longfic. I really want to explore the pairing, as well as both the girls' personalities.
> 
>  
> 
> **EDIT: THIS FIC IS NOW DISCONTINUED DUE TO CANON REVELATIONS ABOUT TRACER.** As in, Tracer has a GF and I'm over the moon about it, and I'm certainly not going to try and fix what ain't broke in this case. She's queer, she's happy, I have nothing to add anymore in this case. I'm sorry about having to formally discontinue something I was really stoked about working on, but I'm not sorry in the slightest about why. Thanks, Blizz. You've made my shrivelled gay heart grow three sizes.

Gloves on, shoulders loosened, stance relaxed. Steady breaths; in, out. Staying calm was the important part. No room for panic or mistakes, because that high up, tripping meant broken legs or worse.

Lena smiled, exhaled long and slow. Then, she took off.

Dorado was old. Not _old_ old like London was, but old enough that the architecture was littered with things to grasp and climb on. Trellises and windowsills and bits of crumbling brick-work were everywhere. The rooftops were probably the most dangerous part, if only because there were so many loose shingles. But there were also flat roofs, patios, porches. Stairwells and walkways. Buildings that were the kind of close together that could only have come before the days of building codes and fire safety.

Run, leap, land, roll, run again. Grab, scamper, climb, span the gap between buildings, latch on to the next. Scale the ironwork over this window, find a foothold on that stone planterbox. The shortest distance between two points was a straight line, but Lena had never done this sort of thing for the sake of finding the shortest distance unless it was mission-critical. No, she did it for the joy of it, the thrill. The rush that came from the feeling of weightlessness on a jump, the wind on her face and in her hair as she ran. She didn't even need the harness for it; she'd been doing it since her teens, with many a scuff and break to show for it from the learning process alone.

A breathless laugh bubbled out of her as she ran, delight and adrenaline coursing through her veins. She dropped into the town square, rolled, sprinted to the fountain in the middle, scaled it easily. One hand held fast to the concrete while the rest of her hung carelessly off of it, swinging outward and surveying the busy scene below her while she caught her breath. An omnic overseeing a cart full of candies and treats, a child in a white dress straining to pull away from her mother, a gaggle of pre-teens with backpacks and phones. Adults laughing and talking, teenagers trying to look cool. Some had noticed her, others pretended not to.

She hopped down from the fountain with a huff, spinning idly on her heel and smiling to herself. A good run. Soldier I'm-Not-Jack-Morrison-No-Really 76 was probably going to be more than a little miffed at her for buggering off when they were _supposed_ to be watching for Talon activity at the Lumerico plant protest, but really, it wasn't like it would be hard to get back. She had her fancy harness on. All they had to do was buzz her communicator and she'd be back in a blink--

"That was some nice footwork," a voice said at her side.

Lena squawked at the suddenness of it, almost tripping over her own feet. Next to her, the stranger laughed; her voice was low and rich. A nice voice. One that belonged to a just-as-nice face, Lena realized once she got a good look. The color of the day was purple, apparently. Purple hair, purple eyeshadow, purple lipstick, purple jacket. Pinks and blues, too, but the deep purple was woven throughout. And to top it off, she had a cute little mole by the corner of her left eye.

Beautiful, Lena thought. Then she realized that she'd been staring instead of replying, and put on her best grin to compensate.

"You liked that?" she said, turning to face the stranger and beaming. "It's called free-runnin'. A city like this is perfect for it."

"Is it now?" the woman mused.

"Oh, it's brilliant. Plenty'a footholds, yeah? Sturdy architecture too, none'a them lazy facades that are nothin' but plaster an' foam. Might as well be climbin' a mountain made'a packin' peanuts with them."

The woman chuckled, hiding it behind her hand, and Lena's guts did somersaults at the sight. "I can imagine," she said. "But I also imagine that you're skilled enough to compensate, yes?"

"Aw, well. I don't mean to brag, but--" she was definitely going to brag, "--yeah, probably. Been doin' it for years. It's where the callsign comes from, actually-- _les traceurs_. French word for people who do that kinda thing." She ignored the pang that came from word association with anything in French, keeping her smile bright. Pretty strangers deserved better than the implication of being a rebound, and she really needed to stop it with the guilt and word association anyway, really.

The pretty stranger in question smiled right back. "And here I thought I was doing so well skirting around the whole 'famous member of Overwatch' thing."

"If it makes you feel any better, you're still one up on most people. At least you're not some hairy bloke who opened with 'Tracer I love you please marry me I have your action figure'. I mean really, at least stop t'breathe in between statements, mate."

The woman pulled a face. "Eugh. I will never understand men. Oh yes, your creepy obsession is definitely your most attractive quality. Tell me more about how sensitive and different you are." Then she sighed and muttered something in Spanish that sounded like an insult to whatever bloke she was thinking of, shaking her head. Lena nodded sagely, understanding the feeling.

"At least women don't usually do that." A pause. "Usually."

"Usually," the stranger agreed. Her wry smirk gave Lena butterflies all over again. "Ah, but I've taken too much of your time, I think. I'm sure a hero like you has places to be, damsels to rescue."

Lena shrugged. "Not really." A blatant lie, since Morrison would probably have her hide for mucking about as long as she had to begin with. "Unless you know any damsels in need of rescue from a cold, lonely night, that is."

"Haha, if only. Sadly, this damsel has places to be." A wink, a wave, and then the stranger stepped back with a flourish. "I'd love to stay and chat, but you know how it is. Business before pleasure and all."

Business before pleasure had never been one of Lena's strong suits. "Can I come?" she blurted.

The purple-clad woman laughed again. "Sorry, _amiga_. Maybe some other time." She turned and began walking away. "See you later."

"Yeah, g'night," Lena said distantly. She stared after the woman for a full minute, even after she'd slipped out of sight around a corner. Like a magpie drawn to shiny objects, so, too, was Lena Oxton helpless around beautiful women. A terrible weakness.

Good God, she hadn't even gotten the woman's name, had she? Should've asked. Should've gotten a phone number or something while she was at it, too. Augh, what a scatterbrained git she was sometimes...

A voice piped in through the earpiece of Lena's communicator, startling her. " _She's a pretty one_ ," it said. " _Want me to keep track of her for you?_ "

Lena groaned. "Cap..."

" _Now, Lena, I'm not your captain anymore. What did I tell you about calling me that?_ "

"Did you have to watch, though?"

Ana scoffed through the comm. " _Jack was concerned, so I told him I would make sure you didn't get into too much trouble._ " Smugly, she added: " _Would you rather I let him run off after you?_ "

Now there was a scary thought. "Like he's got any room to say anythin', as much as he runs off to who-knows-where. An' who knows what he got up to before the recall! Grumpy ol' Batman-wannabe arsehole."

" _There are worse ways for a person to spend their retirement._ "

"I can never tell whether you're bein' sarky or not when you say things like that," Lena remarked, giving the alleyway that the woman had wandered off through one last glance. "Eh, tell Totally Not Strike Commander Morrison that I'll be back in a few, yeah? Gonna go for one last run."

Ana got a chuckle out of that. " _I'll let him know_."

"Right, thanks."

 


	2. the fire in her eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally I had planned for Soldier to explain the pertinent plot bits and headcanons to Tracer. She did not let him. If this becomes a trend, then writing her is going to be both difficult and amazing in future. I love stubborn little shits.

It was late by the time Lena got back to the lorry they were using as a temporary base of operations, inexcusably late. Which was why, on the way back, she brought churros.

"Well, look what the cat drug in," McCree drawled as she closed the door to the compartment behind herself; Morrison heard him and looked up from his tablet to peer at her, visor rendering him inscrutable.

If she didn't know he needed it to see, she'd say he was being mysterious on purpose for some additional angst factor. "Took you long enough," Morrison grumbled. "See anything while you were out, or were you too busy flirting with the locals?"

Lena groaned. "Ugh, really? She told you guys?" Shouldn't have stopped off along the way to hand that old bint her share.

"Technically, she told Jack. Me, I just put two'n two together from what Jack told me." McCree pointed at the plastic bags in Lena's hands. "I'm guessin' that's food?"

She sighed and handed him his bag, which he dug into eagerly; Morrison was a bit more wary of his. "You're a nosy git, y'know that?"

"Aw now Lena darlin', don't be like that. You still love me, right?"

"I'd love you more if you didn't smell like you'd dumped an ashtray on yourself," she replied. An old conversation that went back years. Then she glanced at Morrison and had to sigh. "You can take your mask off an' eat, y'know. It's not like we don't know who you are."

Morrison _hmph_ ed. "The locals might."

"The locals are all either down the road at the protest or in the town square pretendin' the protest doesn't exist 'cos protests are for shouty people," Lena told him. "Stop faffin' about an' eat, or they'll get cold."

Annoyed, Morrison snorted and opened the bag to peer into it. "Anything I'm supposed to dip these in?"

Both Lena and McCree shared a Meaningful Look over their churros and pretended he hadn't asked as they began eating, leaving Morrison to his confusion and ineptitude.

Just as the old man was halfway through disassembling his mask and Lena and McCree were halfway through their food, however (as well as halfway through a conversation about That One Time that McCree had been put in charge of stocking safehouses as punishment for something and proceeded to stock them with nothing but string cheese, and how Lena had once done the same with Golden Gaytimes, which then turned into a conversation about what in God's name Golden Gaytimes actually were), a callout came through over their comms that made all three of them stiffen immediately.

" _You've got company_ ," Ana said grimly. " _On the rooftops, not far from your position."_

"How many?" Morrison asked her. He set his food down, wiped his gloves off on his pants. The visor went back on as quickly as it had come off.

" _One._ " She sounded tense. " _Jack, I think it's--_ "

A heavy _clunk_ hit the roof of the compartment, making all three of them jump. Metallic footsteps followed, and then that same weight dropped down onto the concrete outside. Dour-faced and hesitant, McCree edged towards the door with his revolver in hand. He glanced to Lena and Morrison, both of whom had gone for their weapons as well; Lena gave him a quick nod, swallowing even as her heart tried to leap into her throat. Trying not to think of all the gases and poisons Talon might throw into the compartment to flush them out.

Taking a breath, McCree threw the door open with his finger poised on the trigger. Lena sucked in air through her teeth at the monstrous silhouette that was revealed: _Reaper_.

"What a nice little gathering," the wraith said dryly. "Three generations of Overwatch, all in the same place."

"The hell are _you_ doin' here?" McCree squawked. Lena nodded quickly, her pistols raised and pointed right at Reaper's head.

He'd hurt Winston and Athena. He'd tried to rob a museum, damn near killed a couple of little kids, gone after the captain, and then there was that thing at Volskaya Industries that Zarya had told them all about... "Yeah, start talkin' or we'll shoot," she threatened.

Reaper tilted his head, held his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "Relax. I didn't come to kill you."

"It's okay," Morrison said. "If he wanted us dead, it would've happened already."

" _Commander!_ " Lena squeaked. Morrison gave her an unreadable look. "This is the Reaper! He's bloody evil!"

"That what the UN's told you?" the old soldier asked.

"No, it's what I've _seen,_ you sock full of old wank," she spat back. "We all looked at the same security footage back at Gibraltar, yeah? And my eyes work a hell of a lot better than yours."

"Well that's a low blow," Reaper commented.

"You." Lena pointed her gun at him and his hands flew up again. "Shut up, yeah?"

Reaper snorted. "I thought you wanted me to talk."

"Yeah, but I've had about enough of your lip--" She stopped when McCree placed a hand on her shoulder, blinking. "What."

"Let 'im finish, darlin'," McCree said gently. Then he added, "Mask off, Gabe. Let 'er see."

Lena twisted to peer at him suspiciously. " 'Gabe'?"

Just then, there was a shimmer right next to the wraith's elbow. A gleam of pink and purple fractals and bent light, and suddenly Lena felt like her guts were doing backflips. There, running her hand through her hair as she stood next to Reaper, was the woman in purple. The pretty stranger that she'd met before was with the fucking Reaper.

"Perimeter's as clear as it'll get, _viejo_ ," the woman in purple said. "Please tell me we've got a plan."

"You," Lena hissed.

The woman smiled sweetly and waved. " _Hola._ Told you I was busy."

"You're with Talon."

"Ehh, 'with' is such a strong word. Friends with benefits, maybe? Formerly, I mean."

McCree cleared his throat. "Ladies, please. Can we save the flirtin' until after there's been a few introductions passed around?"

"I think I can handle that," Morrison rumbled. He gestured towards the wraith. "Oxton, this is Reaper. Also known as Gabriel Reyes, commander of Blackwatch."

" _That's even worse!_ " Lena sputtered.

"--And this," the old soldier continued, "is Sombra, I'm guessing."

The purple stranger preened, fluffing her hair with a soft chuckle. "Aw, Gabi," she cooed, tilting her head to look at Reaper, "you told your boyfriend about me. You really do care."

" _Sombra_ ," the Reaper growled in warning. She just snickered at him.

Lena gave Morrison an incredulous, mortified look. " 'Boyfriend'? She's not serious is sh--oh God she's right isn't she."

Somehow, even behind the mask Morrison managed to look exasperated. "Not the time, Oxton."

"Oh yeah? I think it bloody well is, 'cos I'd sure as fuck like t' know if my former commandin' officer has _that big_ of a conflict of interest, yeah? I don't think that's unreasonable!"

"Yes, okay, I'm the bad guy," Reaper said. "Great. Now can we get on with it?"

Lena sighed, whipping around to glare at him and resume pointing her pistol at his face. His, his mask. Whatever. "You have one chance to give me a reason not to shoot you, so it better be good."

But it wasn't Reaper that answered her. "That protest up the road?" Sombra chimed in. "Yeah, that's got Talon agents in it. Just a handful, sprinkled in with the locals. They want to start a riot. And here, a riot means the police get mean and stomp it out. But my country's already pissed, so police violence means more protests, maybe more riots, which will mean more police violence."

"Shit," McCree muttered.

"I know my history, _mija_. If this shit starts before the people can get their footing enough to stand up to it, it can take decades to finish." Her voice was low and dark, utterly serious. "I started this. I want my people to be able to finish it. Please."

Lena gave her a long, quiet once-over, considering. She could be lying. Could be telling the truth, but, could be lying. A stonking great mess all around. And those people who'd be hurt and killed if she was telling the truth-- could Lena afford to make that call, to take that risk?

Irritated, Lena growled, holstered her pistols, and thrust her hand out towards McCree. "Still got a reloader'a blanks for that revolver, luv?"

"Uh," McCree blinked at her, "uhm, yeah. Always do. Why?"

"I'm gonna go break up a protest," she said.

Reaper's sigh echoed hollowly through his mask. "About damn time." She pretended to ignore him.

 


	3. into darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS GOT LONG ON ME OH DEAR.
> 
> still not the longest chapter I've written for a thing though, so that's alright. Hm, I should make dinner.
> 
> Sombra might not care about what people think of her, but she's protective of her friends. They are, after all, important assets that must be protected. But she also likes winning, and Lena's fun to win against because she takes losing so badly. Sombra thinks this is delightful.
> 
> Me, I think they're both little shits.

It was a great plan, Lena thought. Wonderful. Totally devoid of casualties. And then Morrison had to go and suggest that she bring that bloody Sombra woman with her.

"You clear out the civilians, and Sombra can track the hostiles once they've dispersed," he said. "Then you can meet back up with her when you're done, and we'll figure out what to do from there."

Sombra smiled oh-so-sweetly as Lena balked. "I like this plan."

"I don't take orders from you anymore, y'know," she reminded him.

He gave her a bland look. "Want me to call Winston and get a second opinion?"

I.E., bully Winston into agreeing. Lena rolled her eyes. "Ugh, no, no I've got this." She gestured to Sombra with McCree's gun, finger off the trigger. As much as she was tempted to pull a gun safety 'oops', she had a bit more decorum than that. "Try to keep up, yeah?"

Unfortunately, Sombra was all too capable of keeping up. And she managed to do it in a way that really, _really_ got on Lena's tits.

For a start, Sombra had longer legs. At a good clip, she was as fast as Morrison, which wouldn't be too impressive if it weren't for Morrison being a super soldier who could sprint for an hour and still not be too winded afterward. Couldn't climb for shite though, and any gap wider than a half a meter would lead to a hilarious faceplant, at least in Morrison's case.

Now, Sombra couldn't climb either; Lena found this out quickly. "You comin', luv?" she asked, having shimmied halfway up a pillar using bits of loose mortar and part of a vine growing up the length of it. Looking down, she saw her potential partner in crime simply standing there below her, smiling cryptically.

"Oh, I'm fine. You go on ahead."

Lena shrugged this off and kept on climbing. "Suit y'self," she muttered, hoisting herself up over the edge and onto the roof.

Then, just as she was getting to her feet, a device landed next to her. Lena about jumped out of her skin at the sight of it, almost stumbling off the edge of the flat rooftop in her panic. For an instant she wondered if Sombra had nicked one of her pulse bombs; the shape was just similar enough.

But then there was that shimmer again, the device projecting a field of light and color that formed into the silhouette of Sombra's lithe form, and Lena exhaled through her nose with annoyance as she realized Sombra had decided in her infinite wisdom to not share a bloody _teleporter_ , and thus let Lena climb the wall the hard way.

Sombra caught the look Lena was giving her and batted her long, pretty eyelashes innocently.

"You're a tit, y'know that?"

Sombra gasped, feigning astonishment. "But you looked like you were having so much fun, _mija_."

"It's not like it's easy!" Ugh, really. "Fine, whatever, let's just get goin'."

Except Sombra cut her off before she could do that. "Wait," the woman said, her voice losing its jovial tone.

Lena groaned. "Do you want to go stop a riot or not?"

Sombra made a beckoning motion with one long, pink nail, and Lena rolled her eyes before stomping back over with a bit more force to her footfalls than was strictly necessary.

" _What_."

The woman put that finger to Lena's lips. "Shh," she urged, and Lena shushed, albeit in as sullen and grumpy a way as possible.

She watched, then, as those fingers drifted nearer to her ear. Sombra leaned in, further and further, until Lena's whole awareness was taken up by purple and eyelashes and warm breath and the smell of lilacs. Her heart started to pound; she tried to jerk away, but Sombra just shushed her again, smiling. Always, always smiling. What was behind that smile? Lena had a feeling she didn't want to know what would happen if it were to fall away.

A click, then the steady buzz of a hard light haptic projection right near her ear, where her communiator sat. The _bip-bip bibip_ of Sombra's fingers tapping out commands even as she held Lena's gaze, unflinching. Then a crackle in her ear, static, Sombra nodding to herself and stepping back with her lips pursed.

Lena blinked at her. "...The hell was that?"

"Patching myself in," Sombra told her, that rich voice echoing as it came in through both her communicator and her ears proper. "That way we can still talk even when we split up."

"Can the others hear us?"

"No. It's a private channel." Sombra's lips curved into a smirk. "I thought you might appreciate having me all to yourself."

Lena snorted. "Yeah, no. Sorry luv, 'fraid that sort of thing is reserved for people who aren't evil."

"Hmm. Then it's good that I've always considered myself to be more of a chaotic neutral, isn't it?" Walking past, Sombra pulled out her gun - a purple and blue and pink submachine gun, good God - and loaded it with a soft chuckle. "Go break up that protest, _mija_. I'll handle Talon."

"And then what 'appens?" Lena narrowed her eyes. "You think just because you've done one good thing we'll let you join up or somethin'?"

Sombra just laughed, shaking her head. Then, she was gone in a shimmer of pink-- leaving Lena to handle her end of things alone.

"Fuckin' hell," she breathed, before taking off towards Lumerico.

\---

There were no diplomats to protect and no speakers to deflect a bullet for. Thus, all Lena had to do to get the crowd's attention was hop up on a truck at the back of the protest and fire two blank rounds from McCree's revolver; a couple of ear-splitting _bang_ s and all eyes were on her, from the squintiest grandmothers to the most spiky-haired teens.

She only wished it had been so easy back at King's Row. "Everyone, I need your attention, please!" Lena bellowed, top of her lungs with her hands cupped around her mouth. "There's been a bomb threat in this area and for your safety, we need you to evacuate!"

"Who the hell are you?" someone in the crowd shouted back.

"Lena Oxton, callsign 'Tracer'," she replied. "I'm with Overwatch, now _please--_ "

"Overwatch is dead!" another voice hollered. Louder than the wave of gasps and whispers that washed over the gathering. "There aren't any heroes anymore!"

"So be your own heroes and get the hell outta here!" Lena yelled back. "Sometimes the heroic thing is to live so you can be a hero another day, yeah? Go on, move it!"

A hush fell over the crowd, their voices descending into concerned murmuring. Slowly, people began shuffling off back to their lives; some tried to linger, but more often than not a friend or family member or whoever would grab them and drag them along with the rest of the herd. Mission accomplished, in Lena's mind. Even if they were going way too slowly to make it out of there were a real bomb threat.

And then there was the fellow who was sneaking around looking suspicious towards the back (from where she stood, at least; it was near the front of the crowd in reality) that wouldn't have caught her attention if it weren't for, wait, _yes_. That was definitely a gun. Yep, alright, not good.

"Well he's a bit shifty, in'ee?" Lena mumbled.

" _Found our guy?_ " Sombra asked.

"Yeah, headed towards the back door to the bank, I think." Hopping down from the truck, Lena peered after the dark-clad stranger. Plainclothes, but glints of tac gear under the jacket as he ducked out of her line of sight. Bloody hell. "Careful, he's armed."

Sombra laughed over the comm. " _I'm always careful. Distract the guards for me, will you?_ "

"Distract the-- oi, Sombra, the hell're you playin' at? Somb-- Urgh!" Lena took off in the direction of the bank's front entrance, blocked off by nothing more substantial than holographic crime scene tape (which she vaulted, because she knew better than to set off alarms by clipping through it). A few seconds was all it took.

She almost barreled into the Talon agent on the way in. The perp skidded to a halt while she squeaked and activated her harness to keep from colliding with him. She whipped around to face him not a split second later, pulse pounding.

"You!" she barked at him. "Stop right there!" He stared at her as if uncomprehending and she snarled. "I mean it, not one more step!"

" _Mija_ , wait!" Sombra's voice cut through the silence of the emptied bank, Lena turning to look out of reflex at the shimmer in the corner of her eye. It took her a second too long to realize her mistake, a second that ended in a faint _crunch_ as the Talon agent chomped down on something he'd been holding in his mouth.

It was only when he crumpled that it occurred to her she should've tackled him.

\---

"Cyanide," Ana mused afterward once the two of them had returned. Then she scoffed. "How babaric."

Reaper sighed. "Always had trouble getting intel out of Talon agents proper."

"Which is why I stole his gear," Sombra reminded him. She rattled the makeshift sack she'd made out of the agent's coat. "Track the parts, the prints, the manufacturers. If it's 3D printed, track what it's made of, who provided the schematics. Then we see if it gives us any leads that we don't already have."

"And if it's open source, we're screwed," Morrison deadpanned.

Sombra gave him an unimpressed look, then turned to Reaper. "He always like this?"

The wraith, in turn, spoke to Morrison. "Talon doesn't use open source schematics when they print weapons and ammunition. Never have. Smaller terrorist groups do sometimes, but if you've got the budget, you shell out for the nice toys."

"A shame they don't place that much value on their people," McCree mumbled.

Lena huffed, legs crossed and her chin resting on her palms, elbows braced against her knees. Trying not to think about the Talon agent who'd choked to death on his own innards as they all sat around in a circle in the back end of the rented lorry. " 'Cept for highly specialized ones like Widowmaker, apparently. She gets a bloody dropship."

"They don't sink that kind of money into their average goons," Reaper explained. "Brainwashing to that degree takes effort and time. Brute force it too hard and you get a vegetable, which is about the level where most of Talon's cannon fodder ends up."

"So, seein' as you're not a vegetable, this means that you blew up the Swiss base totally of your own accord? Yeah, I can see how that'd make you real trustworthy."

Everyone turned to give Lena varying degrees of Weird Looks.

"What?" She glared at them. "Why's everyone lookin' at me like I'm the one who's gone mental? I didn't let the murderer an' his pet hacker in!"

Sombra hissed something uncomplementary in Spanish.

" _What!_ " Lena squawked. "What am I missin'!"

"You Overwatch types are fucking blind, you know that?"

"Oh really?"

"Yeah. Really." Sighing in annoyance, Sombra set down the gear and pulled up her haptic interface again, tapping at it with her fingers. In no time at all, she pulled up a projection-- security footage.

Next to her, Reaper went very still, tense even with the mask still on. "Sombra--"

"You want to talk about evidence?" she snapped. "Here's your evidence. Gibraltar, back in May. You see?"

Lena gawked at the footage, mirrored due to the angle but clear as day. "How'd you get this?"

"Just _watch_ , alright?"

Thoroughly chastised, Lena watched. So did everyone else, except for Reaper; he didn't need to, because he'd been there. It was the day he'd attacked the Watchpoint with a bunch of Talon thugs.

So Lena watched, and watched. The same footage she'd seen before. Morrison and McCree had probably seen it too, though maybe Ana hadn't; she had her hands steepled in front of her face and watched with a furrowed brow, having gone hard to read all of a sudden. Like she had before, Lena winced at the parts where Winston got hurt, and found herself rooting for the big guy throughout.

"I don't see what it is you want me to look at," she said slowly.

Sombra growled and backed up the footage with a swipe of her finger, then paused it at the point where the Talon goons had first broken in. She jabbed a finger towards one of the agents. "Then look harder! See?"

"That tesla cannon Winston's got ain't his, darlin'," McCree murmured around his cigar. "One'a the Talon guys dropped it."

"Because it wasn't the monkey Talon was most worried about keeping contained," Sombra finished for him; Lena was caught up in her eyes, the fire in them. Like she was talking about a hero of hers. With a flick of her hand, the footage was dismissed. "They're more afraid of Gabriel Reyes going against them than they are of anything."

"That doesn't disprove anything," Lena shot back. "It could just mean he's mad as a sack of wet cats."

"Or, it could mean that the UN trying to smear the fuck out of him is connected somehow," Sombra replied, "because to me, it looks like they're scared too."

"They are," Morrison agreed, wringing his hands. "They always were. They would've given him my job, otherwise."

Reaper snorted. "Took you long enough to say it."

"Don't get too comfy on that high horse. You aren't exactly going to get a warm welcome back at the Watchpoint." The former Strike Commander looked nervous behind the visor. "Could get ugly."

"I've had worse receptions. Don't worry, I'll keep my response nonlethal."

"Damn straight you will," grumbled McCree.

As for Lena, she just gave Sombra a withering glare; the woman in purple was looking right at her, basking smugly in victory. Looking for all the world like the cat that got the cream.

Ugh.

 


	4. stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> welp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On a bit better terms this time. Sorry if this part is short this time, I feel like death and the bland dry turkey leftovers aren't really doing much but reminding me that turkey is bland and boring.
> 
> at least writing is cathartic and nice.

Lena didn't ask how Sombra got her and Reaper onto their hypertrain, nor did she think she particularly wanted to know. The trip to the spaceport in Houston would take a few hops, and Lena honestly just wanted to spend her downtime napping after that whole mess.

Except she couldn't nap, could she? She had a couple of bloody terrorists on the train and there were innocents who hadn't come into this trip prepared to be blown up, and that meant that, apparently, she was going to sit awake all bloody night and into the next morning staring at the ceiling of her nice little compartment, head leaned against the back cushion with her feet propped up on the seat opposite her and her arms folded. She'd tried taking her jacket off, shifting her position, focusing on her breathing, listening to the sleepiest music imaginable on earphones, everything.

Annoyed, she got up, poked her head out the door of her compartment, and set off down the length of the train. Might as well find the terrorists and have a little chat, make sure they weren't up to no good just to ease her mind. Maybe grab a biscuit while she was at it.

(Naturally, this meant she had a small paper sack of about a dozen biscuits when she finally found Sombra's door, because she had no self-control.)

The curtains on Sombra's door and windows were drawn; the only way Tracer could tell it was definitely her was the purple light shining faintly through the cloth, the default gleam of her haptic interface. A minute of waiting in front of the door ensued before she eventually knocked, shave-and-a-haircut style, against the plexiglass. The light dimmed, the lock clicked.

And there was Sombra. Hair up, with whatever temporary dye she used in her hair washed out into plain bleached tips. Make-up long since cleaned off. Still in that pink-blue-purple bodysuit, but with an oversized purple t-shirt and shorts thrown over the top instead of two layers of overcoat. She squinted; Lena realized that she must not have contacts in, since her eyes were a different color than before.

" _¿Qué onda?_ " She sounded tired, voice rough. Not sleeping either.

Also, Lena had no idea what she'd just said, not that not knowing what someone had said was anything new given that Overwatch was international. Winging it was second nature at that point. "I brought biscuits," Lena said, holding up the bag. "Bit too many for me, figured I'd share."

Sombra leaned against the doorframe with a smirk. "Not poisoned, I hope," she remarked.

"No, that's the sorta thing your side does, not mine." Lena shook the bag. "Peace offerin'?"

The bag was snatched from her hands, and Sombra opened it up to peer at its contents. "These aren't biscuits."

Lena groaned and rolled her eyes. "Fine, cookies, whatever."

" _There_ you go. I swear, talking to you is like trying to talk to someone who speaks old-world Spanish." Sombra opened the door fully, stepping aside and gesturing for Lena to sit down on the adjacent seat. Peace offering accepted.

Lena shrugged and slipped in past her, waiting for her to sit before resuming the position from the previous cabin: feet up on Sombra's seat, head leaned back, time to chill. "Ehh, s'about the same level of drift I'd wager, so you're not really wrong."

"Mm." Mirroring Lena, the hacker set her dainty legging-clad feet on the seat Lena was plopped on. A mutual invasion of space. When she leaned back, one hand went in the biscuit bag while the other pulled out the haptic interface again. "So," she said, feigning indifference when Lena nicked the bag right back to pinch a few for herself, "what brings you here?"

"Ehh, couldn't sleep. There's terrorists on board, after all." Lena nibbled on a biscuit thoughtfully, glad that they were the soft American sort and not the kind she knew from back home that required tea or milk to be edible; she ignored the look Sombra shot her for her comment. "An' while I do think Reaper's the more dangerous one, there are some things I don' much care to walk in on."

Sombra barked a laugh. "Yeah, that's fair. Some things just can't be unseen. Or unheard, for that matter. Gabe likes to leave his comm on."

"Eww." Lena crinkled her nose in distaste. "Still can't figure out why that's a thing. Last I remembered of them interactin' at all was after the cap' went off the grid, an' he beat the snot outta Morrison right there in the hall. Even then I thought he was goin' off on one."

"I don't think it started out that way. Not that they have the healthiest thing going, but I think it must've worked really well at some point for Gabe to care as much as he does." Sombra didn't pause in her tippy-tapping at the haptic interface as she leaned forward to snatch another biscuit for herself, falling back to munch. " _Mmh_. I've been using the translocator too much. Kills the appetite, doesn't it?"

"Well I figure that's what you get for usin' stolen tech." Another thing Lena had realized after the fact, once she'd given it a bit of thought.

Sombra stopped tapping to huff, shifting in her seat. "If they didn't want anyone with a 3D printer making one, they shouldn't have made the schematics so easy to get to," she said primly. "Their security was so bad that hacking it was practically a service. Exploiting all the loopholes means I've highlighted where they are, so they can plug them up next time."

"Oh, don't give me that anarchic nonsense. You saw a shiny thing, you wanted the shiny thing, you got the shiny thing. Like a bloody magpie, you are."

"Also true. A girl has to have her toys, _mija_." Tapping resumed with a wry smirk. "You're cute when you get righteous, did you know that?"

Lena sputtered and jerked her head immediately to glare out the window at the passing countryside. "Pff. Quit tryin'a throw me off, its not gonna work. I'll be keepin' an eye on you whether you like it or not, an' no amount'a butterin' me up will change that."

The hacker pursed her lips and cooed. "Aw, _pobrecita_." Lena had no idea what that meant, but Sombra was smiling at her like she was something small and cute and it was sort of infuriatingly patronizing. "Well, if it makes you feel better, consider me watched until morning and get some sleep, yeah? You look like you need it."

"Piss off, you. You're not gettin' rid'a me that easy."

Sombra just laughed, low and rich and buttery.

(Hours later, Lena was annoyed to realize as she woke via a light tap on the leg and a purple-painted smile that she had, indeed, fallen asleep. And that Sombra, being the shit that she was, had eaten all the biscuits.)

\---

The flight to Madrid was a much less tense affair, with Lena seated next to McCree. Ana was with Sombra, and Reaper was with Morrison. McCree made for great company, because he never had trouble keeping up, nor did Lena have trouble keeping up with him. So they went on tangents about food and the annoyance of shaving and London weather and Genji's arse and the confusion that arose around which garment the word "pants" was actually talking about, and a grand time was had by all. Or at least the two of them had a good time.

Once they got there, however, the mood went right back to being tense again. And things just got worse when they got back to the Watchpoint, which was a hard act to follow considering most of the intervening trip had been spent arguing over what to listen to on the satellite radio with varying degrees of passive-aggressiveness from everyone involved, because that's what happens when six people of wildly varying ages are crammed into a transport at the same time.

Genji was the first to greet them. He dropped from an outcropping of rock overhead (probably?) and landed neatly on the concrete with barely a sound, before making a beeline for McCree; the gunslinger laughed and held his arms out, and Genji darted forward to glomp him as the rest of the group stared.

"Some things don't change," Reaper drawled, and Genji tipped his head up from McCree's neck to stare at the wraith intently through his visor.

When he spoke, he didn't sound pleased. "Why are _you_ here?"

"Stockholm syndrome, I missed Overwatch's regular abuse." For being dead, Reaper was a right snarky old bastard. "Or maybe I just got tired of Talon thinking they had me on a leash."

"Hn." Genji peeled away from McCree to eye Sombra next. "And who is she?"

"She's a friend, sweetheart," McCree assured him. "Passed Lu the intel about Lumerico under the table, got us a few leads on what Talon's up to."

"I'm not here to hurt you, little sparrow," Sombra added with that too-sweet smile; Genji went absolutely rigid at the nickname, and Lena had to wonder just how many people she had intel on.

But before it could get messy, Reaper sighed and cut in again. "Sombra, enough."

"Aww, but Gabi, it's so easy with these people." She pouted, but the expression only barely concealed her delight as she was obviously having the time of her life just dicking with people.

"Stick to the plan," he told her firmly. She stuck her tongue out at him.

Morrison cleared his throat. "I'm gonna go brief Winston," he said. "Gabe, you're with me."

"I should probably come along too, shouldn't I," Ana mused.

He shrugged. "I wouldn't mind the assist. This might take some diplomacy." Then he looked to Lena and she scrambled to stand at attention out of some old RAF reflex that told her to. "Oxton, set Sombra up with some quarters and familiarize her with the base."

"What, me?" Lena balked at the idea. "So now I'm her keeper or somethin'?"

"You did say you wanted to keep an eye on me," Sombra noted.

Morrison didn't necessarily deny it either. "You know the base, you know the AI, you know the mealtimes, you know which rooms are in use and which aren't. You two also seem to get along well enough."

"Ooh, an AI." Sombra seemed almost giddy about that. "You people really do know how to treat a girl, don't you?"

Reaper growled low in his throat. "Don't."

"Oh, come on, just a little!"

"Sombra, no."

"You're no fun, _viejo_." She let out a melodramatic sigh. "Fine, I'll be good and I won't mess with the AI. Much."

" _Sombra_."

Lena could tell from that point onward that Sombra's stay was going to be made absolutely miserable for everyone who wasn't Sombra.

 


	5. the vikings have their tea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear this is meandering slowly towards something resembling a plot you guys
> 
> This idea literally occurred to me _yesterday_ when I had a 101 fever. I wrote it out overnight and polished it off today and now it's a direction that the plot is taking. There will be fake dating, ulterior motives, silly references, and possibly fight scenes. Idk, I'm having fun.

A week into having two terrorists make themselves at home at the Watchpoint, Lena was just about at her limit. In no particular order, Sombra had done the following:

\--sabotaged what could have been a perfectly civil conversation with Lucio about freedom fighting and resistance movements and corperate greed by bringing up the politics of illegal music downloads,  
\--responded to Hana's growling about hackers giving good gamers a bad name by saying she wasn't that kind of hacker, and then proceeding to do exactly that sort of hacking the very next night just because she could,  
\--made old Torby's turrets dance to the tune of an ancient meme,  
\--broken Athena's vocal synthesis software and made her sound like a chipmunk,  
\--switched all of Hanzo's arrows into scatter arrow mode while they were still inside his quiver, then activated them,  
\--made the HUD on Satya's visor just a teensy bit asymmetrical,  
\--switched out McCree's playlist for actual bloody music instead of warbling antique country ballads (a thing no one complained about except for McCree),  
\--mirrored the haptic interface controls in the communal showers just outside the simulator area, and finally,  
\--changed the color of Genji's lights.

Needless to say, she was not well-liked. And much to Lena's dismay, apparently it had been decided that the duty of watching Sombra and making sure things didn't get too out of hand fell to her. Something about having been around Sombra that little bit longer and thus having built up a tolerance, according to Morrison (who was full of shite).

"I like it here," Sombra said over lunch on day seven. She was blue today, her hair and contacts and make-up and bodysuit the color of the ocean, with a shirt and shorts over the top that were just overlarge enough to probably be stolen from someone else's laundry. She held her fork primly, elbows resting on the table as she leaned over her plate like an absolute heathen. "It's warm, it's clean, there's a nice view. A girl could get used to this."

"You still haven't given us that intel," Lena noted, moodily poking at her food. Rather than eat Reinhardt's cooking, she'd just defrosted herself some waffles instead, but they'd ended up cold in the middle and burnt on the edges somehow. Syrup and butter could only do so much at that point.

Sombra rolled her eyes. "Do I have to? It seems like you people will keep me safe either way, so why should I bother?" Catching Satya looking at her across the mess hall, she grinned and proceeded to take an extra large bite of sausage, making a show of chewing; Satya shuddered visibly and jerked her gaze away, but this just made Sombra grin's even wider.

Meanwhile, Lena scowled. "You know it's a risk keepin' you here," she said. "We can't do this forever. Eventually Talon's gonna come after you. _Both_ of you."

"Oh, please." Sombra waved her fork dismissively. "Talon would come after this base eventually whether we were here or not. Even if they didn't have a nice long list of defunct Watchpoints to loot, the fact that the recall broadcast satellite was sent from here sent up a bunch of red flags. Not to mention the first infiltration attempt making it that much more of a target."

"So help us."

"I am helping." Sombra leaned over the table to dip her sausage in the syrup from Lena's waffles, ignoring the squawked _hey!_ she got for doing so. "I got the best tactician in the world to come along for the ride. What more do you need?"

"Someone who isn't a complete nutter givin' us a hand too, maybe?" Lena deadpanned.

The hacker's eyes narrowed. "Watch it, _mija_. That's a hero you're talking about."

"Last time he went down to the infirmary he put an IV stand through a window."

"Yeah? And? I would too if it were me being treated like a lab rat by your doctor."

Lena sighed irritably. This was getting them nowhere. "My point is, he's not a reliable source of information right now. Maybe if Angie can get him sorted--"

"Right, because she's done so well with that before--"

"--but until then, we need somethin' to help us stay ahead of Talon, 'cause otherwise our idea bucket's about t' run dry."

"How is that my problem?"

"It's your problem because you're _living here_ , you useless twat!"

Most of the mess hall went dead silent after that, heads turning to blink at Lena. Sombra, too, went quiet, and stayed that way even after other conversations resumed. She tapped her fork against her plate idly, a soft _tink_ ing of metal on ceramic while Lena glared at her.

When things came down to a battle of wills, Lena rarely lost.

"Oh well," Sombra finally relented with a sigh, "I can never say no to the cute ones."

Lena blew a raspberry at her.

\---

A meeting was called the next day. Everyone on base piled into the conference room, which didn't have nearly enough chairs for some reason. Some people used other peoples' laps, like Mei and Genji had with Zarya and McCree respectively, but for Lena, the solution she decided on was to bring her own chair up from storage, brushing the spiders off as she went. Hana brought the rickety office chair from her quarters, Winston brought his tire, Satya conjured a seat out of nothing to perch on, Reinhardt had somehow carried in an entire couch, and so forth. Some, like Hanzo and Morrison, didn't even bother with chairs.

Sombra made her appearance only after everyone was finally in the room, her little candy skull icon flickering onto the projector screen just as she came into view in a shimmer of pink. Flashy as it was, it didn't get anyone's attention except Lena's, and that was because she was already staring blankly in that direction thinking about pies.

What did work? Throat-clearing. " _Ahem_." The whole room looked up. "I suppose you're all wondering why I called you in here today."

"If this is another prank, I'm leaving," Hana said. There was a murmur of assent from around the room.

"Then it's a good thing it's not a prank this time, isn't it?" Pulling up her haptic interface, Sombra tapped out a few commands. The projector screen flickered before displaying an image that looked like it came out of a travel brochure. "This is Oasis."

"I did some security work there once," Fareeha said.

"Did they tell you that your accent was poor?" Ana chimed in with a smirk.

Fareeha perked up. "Oh, so you've been there too."

"A few times."

McCree raised his hand like a kid in a classroom. "Uh, 'scuse me, but ain't Oasis some high-class tourist trap?"

"Their university is one of the best in the world," Angela told him. "I've had occasion to use their labs before, back when Overwatch was in its prime."

Sombra pointed at her. "And that's our topic of discussion, friends: the research." She tapped out another command, and a new image transitioned onto the screen. It looked like it had been captured from a security camera; a picture of several scientists gathered around a shimmery-looking, floating black blob.

Reaper - no, Reyes - shifted uncomfortably in his seat, while Winston adjusted his glasses to peer at it. "Ferrofluid," the scientist said.

"Along with nanotech and genetic research," Sombra agreed. Nearby, Angela went very still, her jaw going wire-tense. "Now on their own, none of these things would seem particularly weird. Come to think of it, even together they don't seem too weird. Lots of universities study these kinds of things."

"--but?" Morrison interjected.

Sombra smiled. " _But_ ," she continued, "when in doubt, follow the money."

"We found out that this research is being subsidized by some very suspect persons," Reyes said. "The people doing the research itself don't know what it's for, because none of it looks connected. Seperate departments looking into seperate subjects. The people paying for it are the ones looking for more... Practical applications."

Angela muttered a curse, and Sombra gestured to her. "See? The doctor gets it."

"I didn't publish my findings," Angela insisted. "None of what I did was ever left out in the open."

Reyes held up his hand, though not as comically as McCree had done. "Technically, I was out in the open."

"Honestly, the fact that you didn't publish it is probably why they're pouring so much money into trying to recreate it," Sombra told the doctor, barely reassuring. "But without access to their private servers, we have no idea how far they've gotten in that research, nor do we have any idea how much people like Talon have done with it."

"So we break in, get the intel we need, sneak back out before anyone realizes we're there," McCree said with a shrug. "Easy-peasy. Genji and I can handle this one."

Genji's sigh echoed strangely through his mask. "Jesse..."

"What? We've done it before. I pull the dumb tourist act, you do your sneaky thing--"

"And how is our sparrow supposed to get past the cybersecurity measures?" Sombra pointed out. "We aren't talking about folders left open on a desk here. Their servers have to be accessed directly."

"How do you propose we do this, then?" Zarya asked, sounding only vaguely interested. She always managed to give the impression that she didn't trust a word of what Sombra had to say, which was probably a smart way to live one's life.

Sombra clapped her hands together. "I'm glad you asked." Rocking back on her heels, she tapped out another command; the screen shifted to a picture of a building that looked like a geometry class equation from hell, half constructed yet still somehow towering over the rest of the city's skyline. "Eight days from now, the university will be hosting a gala in honor of the newest addition to the city's, uh, uniquely artistic skyline. They're inviting backers and famous people from around the world, hoping to incentivise further investments in both the city as a whole and the university itself."

Morrison folded his arms. "So, not a mission for anyone who's presumed dead or a wanted criminal." At that, McCree started to pout, Hanzo snorted, and Ana feigned innocence as she sipped her tea.

"Exactly," Sombra agreed.

"Well, I've got a gig back home next weekend," Lucio said. "Maybe Hana?"

Hana quickly shook her head. "Australian outreach charity stream, sorry."

"I am no good at these things," Zarya said before anyone could even so much as give her a questioning glance. "Perhaps Doctor Ziegler? It is her research, yes?"

Angela's face scrunched up in a frown. "No. I'll be needed here once the data's collected; I'll have to look at my own notes to be able to draw a comparison and see how far they may have gotten, and it will be much easier to do that if I have the necessary data neatly archived and not scattered between the indices of multiple departments' filing systems."

Mei winced. "Ooh, I've had to do that before," she said, and Angela nodded sagely.

There was a pause - a quiet moment as people considered, since it was clear that no one really wanted to spend time with Sombra any more than they had to, especially not on a mission - before Genji spoke up, cutting through the silence with his metallic voice.

"Miss Oxton could go," he said.

Lena sat up slowly, glancing around the room. "Erm..."

She didn't get a chance to protest; Sombra clapped her hands together and beamed, far too delighted. "Perfect. Wear something nice."

Huh? "Wait, what--"

"Symmetra!" Nope, no chance to get a word in edgewise. Sombra wasn't letting her. "How small can you make a teleporter pad? Can you make it, say, small enough to fit in a purse or tuck under a skirt?"

Satya blinked rapidly. "...Technically?" Her brows furrowed in thought. "Yes."

"Great, then there's our plan. We go in - Tracer as a guest, me as a plus-one - find the server rooms, get the intel, and get out via teleporter." Sombra grinned wickedly. "Any questions?"

Lena groaned and faceplanted the conference table. "Genji, I hate you."

"I'll take that as a no," Sombra concluded; Lena wordlessly flipped her off in response.

 


	6. forever in my dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> /rubs hands together
> 
> A reference for the outfits: http://logicalfangirl.tumblr.com/post/154009616130/i-turned-it-into-a-proper-painting-with-progress
> 
> Don't have much in the way of author comments today, whup~

The horizon was a dazzling display of oranges and pinks and purples and blues, and the man-made lake and fantastical architecture glittered with the reflection of its myriad colors. Pretty as a painting, McCree would have said if he were there, and he wouldn't be far off either.

Not that Lena was paying attention to any of that. She'd been standing outside for a half hour, greeting the decadently dressed passers-by whenever they noticed her and adjusting her neatly tailored suit and wondering where the hell Sombra was. _I won't be long_ , she'd said. Ha! What a load of rubbish. At least it was late enough in the year that it wasn't oppressively hot, and late enough in the day that the sun wasn't beating down on the gala attendees' heads.

And what ridiculous heads they were, with all manner of silly hair and wonky hats! Lena was pretty sure that at least one woman had come in wearing an actual pheasant as part of her hairpiece, and that wasn't even getting into the artistic displays of hard light construction that often passed for jewelry-- oh, right, back on topic. Waiting for Sombra. Wait, was that omnic over there wearing a dress made entirely of woven-together hard light filaments? If a human tried that, it'd be indecent exposure. Nice job on taking advantage of not having to hide one's tits--

Oh, look, there was a car pulling up. Did it have Sombra in it? No, just some pudgy bloke with a bad combover. Ah well.

\--And so forth. This went on for some time.

They'd had a week to prepare for this. Lena had gone out and rented a nice suit, because she wasn't masochistic enough to put on a dress and heels for an actual mission that might require a bit of parkour, but even that felt restrictive to her movements. She wasn't one for fancy make-up either, so what little she'd put on to even out her complexion and look a bit less like she hadn't slept much made her face feel all weird and heavy. Usually when she wore make-up it was the cheap, brightly colored kind that went well with cheap, brightly colored dye and a thrift store studded leather jacket (college after Overwatch and the RAF had been _wild)_ , not expensive powders and blushes that she had to look up a guide for to remember how to put them on properly.

Yeah, she really wasn't great at this whole being fancy thing. It was bad enough when it was legit, but being on a mission made it even worse; she wasn't just aware of how bad she was at being fancy, she was aware of how bad she was at being fancy while also trying to look natural about it and not suspicious at all. She'd be willing to bet that if anyone looked at her then, they'd say she was nursing a bad case of indigestion.

Not that she'd be surprised if she did get indigestion. She'd eaten a whole heap of something that was probably truffles at the hotel to preemptively keep her stomach from growling, not wanting to get any stains on her suit later on. Although, knowing her, if there were snacks at this thing, she'd probably eat those too and get stains on the suit anyway.

Another car pulled up, and Lena's head turned out of habit. Probably another celebrity, or a politician, or some old ponce with a load of money. She watched disinterestedly as the door swung open, fully expecting to be disappointed. A pair of dainty feet emerged, in dainty black heels and purple hose.

It was Sombra. Graceful, poised, painted lips pressed together in a playful smile. The light from the setting sun played across her skin, her bare shoulders, her meticulously styled hair, the satiny sheen of her perfectly fitted black dress. There was a faint glimmer to the dark-purple-blended-into-pink around her eyes, and it somehow managed to emphasize that cute mole of hers even further. Gloves in the same material as her hose covered her arms from her fingertips all the way to her dress's artfully draped bateau neckline.

She turned her head to look in Lena's direction, and all of time and space seemed to narrow to that moment.

Lena barely registered the _clip-clip-clip_ of heels until Sombra was barely more than a foot away from her, too caught up in long eyelashes and pinkish-purple-tipped hair and full lips to notice much of anything. When she did notice, she jerked back with an undignified noise, cheeks burning.

"I, erm, _ahem_." She cleared her throat and straightened; Sombra batted those pretty eyelashes, smiling sweetly with a questioning hum, and it was at that point that Lena remembered she was supposed to be annoyed. "You're late."

Sombra shrugged. "Maybe if _someone_ had caught the implication that I could use a little help with the dress instead of just running off on her own."

"You needed help?" Lena didn't remember anything like that. She'd asked if Sombra was good and gotten an affirmative, then went on ahead to the gala.

Apparently that had been the wrong thing to do. "I'm just saying it would have been nice," Sombra replied. She reached over to the purse hanging in the crook of her elbow to dig through it, sighing. "You forgot your communicator too," she added, pulling one out and handing it over. "Here."

Oh thank God, a distraction. Lena snapped her fingers and made a show of reaching for it. "Knew I'd missed somethin'." She plucked the little device out of Sombra's hand and went to tuck it in her ear with a bit of fiddling, switching it on in a burst of static. "Anythin' else?"

"Not that I know of. Armed and ready?"

"Yeah, under the jacket. No timey tricks though, left the harness at base." Pistols were easy. Winston's harness? Not so much. The implant in her chest that kept her anchored was about as much time shenanigans as she was going to get away with for the moment. "You?"

Sombra took a glance around to see if anyone was looking, then pulled up her skirt just enough to reveal her garters. "Translocation beacons here--" then she quickly let the skirt fall again and shifted to indicate her purse, tapping the side of it, "--gun here."

"Teleporter?" Lena asked.

"Other leg." The hacker smirked. "There's circuitry woven into the gloves and dress. Hooks into my central nervous system through the tech along my spine. Anything I can do in full gear, I can do in this." She paused a moment, then added "--except running."

And that was why Lena hadn't gone for a dress and heels. "So that's, what-- stealth, hacking, blinkin' around...?"

"--along with a short-range EMP."

Lena boggled. "Fuckin' hell, what d'ye need an EMP for?"

Sombra gave her a pitying look and patted her on the cheek. "Oh, sweet thing." That was all the answer she got before Sombra was coming closer, stepping up to her side and linking arms with her. "Come on. We've got a party to crash."

\---

The omnic in a tux at the front entrance greeted them with a bow of its head. "Miss Oxton," it said politely. "May I ask after your friend?"

Nervousness prickled at the back of Lena's neck. "Oh, this is my plus-one--"

"Rose Tyler, cybersecurity," Sombra chimed in with a bright, innocent smile. She leaned into Lena's side playfully with a little giggle, and it was only by bracing herself at the last second that Lena managed to not topple over. "I'm her girlfriend."

"Welcome to Oasis, Miss Tyler," the omnic said with a nod. Barely any hesitation; Sombra must have made sure her credentials would check out beforehand. It gestured inward, stepping aside to allow them both entrance. "Please, enjoy your stay."

Sombra just snickered again behind her hand, playing the part of ditzy arm-candy well as they headed inside arm-in-arm. Tact and appearances were the only things keeping Lena silent; the moment they were inside, she tipped her head inwards to give Sombra a meaningful look.

"Layin' it on a bit thick, aren't we?" she mumbled.

The hacker laughed, waving to passers-by. "Gotta make it look real, right?" she whispered back.

"If anyone gets the reference, we're screwed."

"Aw, you don't like it?"

Lena huffed. Never said that. "Just one question, does this make me ninth or tenth?"

"Tenth. Definitely tenth." Sombra pursed her lips. "Or do we technically call him the eleventh? I'm not sure. All I did was read the wiki."

"Oh, we are definitely marathonin' this when we get back. Someone needs to get caught up on their lore."

"Sounds like a date," Sombra teased; Lena poked her in the side and she laughed.

What a little shit she was. "Alright, back to the mission," Lena grumbled. "What's the plan?"

"We go in together to get through the gauntlet of nosy rich people. Let them get good and used to us, give them an eyeful of our youthful chemistry, you know. Really sell it to them that we're the kind of kids to ditch the party to try and find someplace a bit more private at the slightest provocation."

"Shades of my college days," Lena remarked. Sombra rolled her eyes. "Then what?"

"You go back to the party looking, ehh," Sombra made a vague gesture, "a _little_ worse for wear, while I sneak in and grab the data. Shouldn't take me more than ten, fifteen minutes. After that, we say our goodbyes and head back to the hotel."

"And the teleporter?"

"Just a precaution," she assured.

"So if things go a bit weird on us we can just say 'bollocks to it' an' book it back to base, I'm guessin'?"

"Now you're getting it."

"What about our things at the hotel?"

"I may have left a translocator beacon there just in case."

Overcautious? Maybe. These days Lena rather liked having back up plans, though. Especially without her harness on in case something fucked up (or in some instances, in case everything fucked up). "You've put a lot of thought into this, haven't you?"

"Some," Sombra admitted. "Gabe helped a little. Mostly with the dress."

"You had Reaper tailor a dress," Lena deadpanned.

"I know, isn't he the sweetest?" Clearly, Sombra's definition of 'the sweetest' came from some mirror-universe where such statements actually made sense. "Shall we?"

Lena sighed. "I suppose."

 


End file.
